dejah_thoris | [milliways] Lost for you, I'm so lost for you

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[milliways] Lost for you, I'm so lost for you

[ cont'd from here ]

'More private' to her right now simply means away from people. She takes his hand and leads him into the shadows, moving down the beach away from the music and the flickering light of the bonfire. The white sand beach is flat here, gently sloping down to the waterline. The quiet envelopes them, the susurration of the waves the only sound save for the occasional distant laughter.

Her blood still sings with the heat of his kiss, her breath ragged and shallow even as she attempts to calm herself. She can feel him, deeper now than ever before. If she is like fire to him, then he is red hot metal, radiating strength and something more. Something raw. Powerful. She's almost afraid to look too closely, terrified she'll see what she wants to see and not the truth.

But this doesn't feel like simple lust to her. They've skirted around that for months now. But this is different. This feels real.

"Curtis..." So many words crowd up behind her teeth, catching in the back of her throat. She glances at him, watching the distant firelight catch in his eyelashes. When she speaks, all that comes out is,

"I love you."

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Ooooh.

"That," says Curtis, eyes alight, "is such a great idea."

Dejah's so smart. He tips his head back to kiss her, inelegant but earnest.

Okay, drunk Curtis may be Dejah's favorite new thing in the world today. She can't get enough of it, of him. Even bent crooked, sprawled on the floor with him, the taste of his lips sends another wave of bliss rolling through her entire body.

When the kiss breaks, she's grinning from ear to ear. "All right, then. Let me just -- try this."

Clearly the little plastic cup is intended to hold the warm drink. She carefully fills it about half full. "Now, where do the marshmallows go? They're small so, do I eat them first and then drink?"

He starts to lift his metal hand, reconsiders -- it feels very heavy all of a sudden -- and lifts his right hand instead. (Which also feels kinda heavy, but not as bad as the prosthesis.) He points down at Dejah's cup.

"In the chocolate," he declares. "So they can melt and get kinda gooey. It's amazing. It's like -- " What was it like? "Extra whipped cream on top."

Wait!

"We shoulda gotten whipped cream, too! Next time. We have to get it next time, it'll be great. And we can use it on more stuff than the chocolate."

Cue the meaningful, hopefully kind of sexy look. (Spoiler: it looks way more goofy than sexy at this point. Oh well. It's the thought that counts!)

She pauses at the lick of heat in his thoughts, muddled as they are. Her eyes go wide and her chin drops.

"Oh really?" She fishes a few of the tiny sweets out of the bag and tosses them in her cup. She wets her lips and gives them a prod to make them sink. They don't want to sink. Curiouser and curiouser.

Her voice drops into a sultry tone. "Remember the part where you were going to share your ideas?"

"No," he says, cheerfully unconcerned by the lapse in memory, "but I can share 'em if you want. See, whipped cream comes in this...canister thing..."

Curtis does his best to sketch out the shape of said canister.

"And you press the top and it sprays out everywhere. So you can spray it on anything. And lick it off anything. 'Cause it kinda stays there a while after you spray it on. Bet it'd be fun."

"What?" Dejah laughs through the word, looking down at him, mock-scandalized. He can feel the answering shimmer of curiosity and yes, eagerness.

"Are you talking about literally turning me into dessert?"

Curtis just smiles.

And waggles his eyebrows a couple times, visibly struggling not to burst out laughing again.

"Curtis Everett," she drawls. She dips her fingertip in the hot chocolate to the first knuckle and then taps his lips. "You are giving me ideas again."

"Am I?"

Eyes on Dejah, he draws her finger into his mouth, running his tongue around it to suck away the hot chocolate. Tell him all your ideas, Dejah. Sharing is caring.

Her eyelashes flutter and her lips part. All the air goes out of her lungs in a long, low sigh. She closes her eyes and dares to indulge.

She pets the tip of his tongue with her index finger and for a moment, she lets her imagination run wild.

"Cream. And honey," she breathes. "All down your chest."

He lets out a tiny whimper, sending the Voice crackling anew: hazy, muted, but nearly as bright as their moment on the lake shore. Tipping his head back, he lets her finger slip free before whispering, "Yeah."

His arm curls around to rest on the small of her back.

"I want that."

She leans into him as best she can, one hand stroking along his beard. She shares in that heat, letting it warm her blood. It pools in her chest, flows and melts down between her thighs. She hums, opening her eyes. A playful smirk ghosts over her lips.

"Your turn."

Curtis sighs, long and low, as she reflects the heat back at him. It rolls over him in slow, languid waves; he closes his eyes, throat vibrating with a subaudible hum, and traces a spiral over her back.

"Why stop at my chest?" he murmurs. "Or yours. Both of ours. Let it go lower than that." His lazy smile takes on a more wicked curve. "It's a big mess. You're gonna have to be real...thorough to clean it all up. Could take hours, y'know?"

Her face crumples as the images form in her mind, and she answers with a quiet little moan. Her hands fist in his robe. Dejah has a particularly vivid imagination and there's a sharp throb of desire at the very thought.

"Oh yes, that -- I want that. I want to taste you, want -- you to do the same. Goddess..." A laugh shimmers up, tinted with shyness and the sense that she's crossing a line of propriety here, but she keeps going, her voice thick and low. "I want to spend hours just exploring you, every single inch of you."

Jesus. The sound hits him like he just gulped down another glass of champagne; his head swims harder, his blood rushing hot as goosebumps ripple up his arms. Curtis turns his head, lightly pressing his nose at the crease of her hip, breathing in slow and deep.

Propriety, nothing. If he wasn't so wasted he'd start the exploring right now.

"A whole day up here," he whispers. "Just us and the bed. No fancy clothes."

He has her at a distinct advantage, seated like this, and she can't help but think that's a good thing.

"Just a day?" It's easier like this; her inhibitions wash away under the rolling waves of heat. She shudders, another breathless laugh rising in her throat. Quiet as they are, the words spill out of her.

"We'd have to start with a nice, long soak in the bath. And again, after. To make sure I didn't miss anything. And then I'd double check, just to be sure. It could take a whole week"

"Mmm." She can feel his hum against her thigh; Curtis tips his head back, gently nuzzling her belly. "Yeah. Take your time. Much as you need."

He's almost sad he can't hear her thoughts anymore. All the details of what she's thinking; all the pictures that vivid imagination conjures up. Good thing the Voice is there to pick up some of the slack.

She can feel the lick of curiosity in his thoughts, and echoes it back to him, the longing to connect in a deeper way. She sets her hot chocolate aside so she can wrap her arms around his head, her head bent, her body curled around him as best she can manage. His breath against her belly makes her skin sing, draws another moan up from deep in her chest.

"You say that now," she drawls. Her hand slips under his robe and rests against his bare chest, trembling a little. "More reasons to train and get your wind up."

His breath catches. He arches into the touch, just a little, just enough to feel how much the hot mug has warmed Dejah's hand.

"Gonna start first thing tomorrow," he promises with a low chuckle, then stretches up further to kiss her, soft and lingering and thorough.

It's possibly the most awkward angle to try to kiss someone and she loves it, beaming as the sound of his laughter washes over her. She keeps kissing him as she slip slides her way down to one hip, keeps kissing him until she's resting on his chest again.

"You are going to have such a headache in the morning," she whispers, grinning against his lips.

The spell breaks: Curtis dissolves into a fresh round of quiet giggles. "But," he declares, managing to lift a finger, "worth it. So worth it. And if you have a headache too we can keep each other company."

After a couple of tries, he settles a hand on her hair, carefully running his fingers through it.

It's impossible not to share in his laughter, even as she turns her head into his touch. It might be her turn to press against his hand like a cat, right down to the purr in the back of her throat.

"Absolutely. On both counts."

His smile grows as he keeps mussing her hair, gently scratching his fingertips down along her scalp.

And then a yawn catches him by surprise. He realizes at the last second that he should probably cover his mouth or something, but whatever. It's Dejah. She won't mind. He'll just let it run its (rather expansive) course.

"Aww," she murmurs, dropping her head to his shoulder. Undiluted joy fills her every word. "Are we sleeping here on the floor? Or do you want to try to make it to the bed?"

Curtis beams, sleepily. "'M okay with the floor," he says. "The bed's so soft. But -- you're comfy on the bed, it's probably gonna be better for you. And soft's okay. I can deal with soft."

That seems to be a vote for the bed. Maybe.

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